


The thought of you

by Cakemaker87



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: After TEH, Aftermath of Torture, Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Out of Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-16 15:06:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9277355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cakemaker87/pseuds/Cakemaker87
Summary: ”Just…just leave it John…”Sherlock tried to slip his arm out of John’s grip but John held on and put himself in front of Sherlock, trying to get the man to meet his eyes.”I’d like to think you know me a bit better than that Sherlock,” he said with a gentle tone, his anger from just minutes go no longer there. ”How’d you suppose I could just leave this? You’re clearly badly injured and I’d like to know what happened. I need…I want to understand.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place some time after TEH and TSOT and HLV did not happen.
> 
> Confessions are made, fluff occurs. Tooth achingly kind of OOC sweetness so if that's not your cup of tea, maybe skip this one ;)
> 
> This is my first ever fic and attempt of writing so be kind if you stumble upon reading it. English is not my first language.

**The Thought of You**

**...................**

 

“Fine! Do you _really_ want to know what happened!? I almost died, John!”

The deep baritone of a very unreasonable detective travelled across the living room of 221b to where said detective’s former flatmate was standing halfway out of the door after a conflict that had escalated and derailed at an impressive rate, even for them. John froze in his tracks. His right hand on the darkened brass doorknob, his left one clenching at his side. He had one foot still inside the flat he had once called his home, and the other just on the other side of the threshold. He took a deep breath through his nose, pursed his lips and turned his face towards the unbearable pain in the ass of a man still standing by the fireplace.

”What? What are you on about now? Hm?” said John with an annoyed tone to his voice, his eyebrows raised in confusion. Hand still resting on the same place on the doorknob and his left foot still outside the green front door. The pompous bastard, stood by the lit fireplace, was peering back at him. However, his steel blue eyes now wore an expression of shock and terror.

The look on Sherlock’s face made John’s hand slide from the doorknob and his left foot joined the right one back in the warmth of the flat. He turned completely in the direction of the arrogant arsehole he hadn’t laid eyes on for the last two years. That is, until a week ago, when said arsehole had popped up like a jack-in-the-box as if nothing had happened, crashing his proposal to Mary, expecting him to be overjoyed at the mere sight of him. And that ridiculous costume… Just the thought of that evening almost had John storming out the flat, again. All the way down to the street this time.

”Never mind”, came Sherlock’s reply, quick and hushed and so very unlike Sherlock. His back was turned towards John now, his shoulder slumped, his hands stuffed deep in the pockets of his second-best dressing gown. John could see him shake his head slightly in the warm light by the fireplace. Sherlock sighed and started barefoot towards his bedroom.

John took five long strides through the living room to catch up with the stubborn man, avoiding the various papers, post-it notes and undrunk cups of tea left on the floor. He got hold of the fabric of the burgundy gown by Sherlock’s shoulder and tugged at it to make him stop. Sherlock was not prepared for John to come after him, not after all that had been said just moments earlier and was too slow to react to the hand stopping him in his tracks. As Sherlock’s momentum carried him one more hurried step towards his bedroom, John still clutching the dressing gown, the fabric slipped from Sherlock’s shoulders revealing his scars and various gas dressings. John sucked in a breath and abruptly stopped at the sight of the various markings covering his friend back. Sherlock quickly turned his back away from John’s view with a horrified look on his face, yanking the gown from his hand to pull it back on again.

The room was dead silent, apart from the occasional sound from down the street or the slight murmuring from Mrs. Hudson’s radio down stairs, and the tension laid heavy between them once again. John felt the colour drain from his face and his blood go cold. ”Whha…what was that?” he stammered quietly.

”Nothing,” said Sherlock while covering himself tightly with the robe, not meeting John’s  
eyes. ”Nothing at all.”

John had never heard Sherlock sound so utterly defeated. The man who’s always so sure of himself, who knows exactly how to carry himself, who dresses in nothing but nice suits and puts product in his hair. The man who can look at you and tell your life story by a sweep with his eyes was now a mere shadow of his former self. No snarky comebacks, no eye roles, no spark in those piercing eyes and…, how had John not seen this earlier? As Sherlock started to walk away again John took a step towards him, catching his wrist with his left hand. Sherlock stopped.

”Sherlock, please.”

”Just…just leave it John…”

Sherlock tried to slip his arm out of John’s grip but John turned Sherlock to face him and tried to make the man meet his eyes.

”I’d like to think you know me a bit better than that Sherlock,” he said with a gentle tone, his anger from just minutes ago no longer there. ”How’d you suppose I could just leave this? You’re clearly badly injured and I’d like to know what happened. I need…I want to understand.”

Sherlock glanced at John through his lashes while John studied his best friend’s face, trying to be as observant as the man before him. No steady eye contact – _insecure?_ \- matted hair and scruffy face – _not been outside for at least two days_ , face more sunken in at the cheeks than usual – _not eating_ , new scar on the bottom lip – _at least one year old_.

”Tell me what happened? When did…”, John tipped his chin towards Sherlock’s back, “when did that happen?”

Sherlock’s shoulders slumped forwards again, his arm going lax with resignation in John’s grip. A huff of air escaped his well-defined mouth before he answered with a voice so quiet it was hard to hear.

”It’s more a matter of where than when.” Sherlock made a long pause, so long John wasn’t sure he would get a better answer than that. John opened his mouth to coax Sherlock to continue but he started to speak before John could say anything.

“It lasted for an extended period of time the exact length of which is unknown to me, but I believe it must have been at least three months. I got caught in Serbia.” Sherlock turned his eyes sideward to the floor to, eyebrows drawn together; “Stupid…! It was my last mission before Moriarty’s network was completely dismantled. I was meant to be undercover but my identity was compromised and I was caught. I still have no idea how it happened. I was always so careful…” Sherlock’s eyes had got even more distant and slightly glazed, probably thinking about what happened at that time, trying to figure out where he’d made a mistake John suspected. ”I was locked up in some remote place, presumably underground. I was locked in a cell, but they would also take me out to…’have some fun’, as they said.” Sherlock spat that last word with disdain. “They chained me to the ceiling by my hands and to the floor by my feet. I could not sit, I could not rest my arms. They did not allow me to sleep. Every time I nodded off they would find new and creative ways to wake me up,” Sherlock said with a spike of anger to his raspy voice. ”What you’ve seen on my back is the result of that. Some of it, anyway. I was burned with cigarettes, stroked with whips and pipes, cut with various items, punched and kicked, soaked with freezing water, or scolding hot…sometimes both.” Sherlock paused and exhaled deeply before adding; ”The blowtorch was the worst…”

”Jesus Sherlock…” John hissed trough his teeth. He was too shocked, too angry to gather his thoughts. The images of this amazing man being put through all this while John was safe and sound in London kept rushing through his head, his eyes frozen somewhere on Sherlock’s chest. A second later, he saw something moving from the corner of his eye. He shifted his gaze and saw how Sherlock’s shoulders had begun to shake. John focused his eyes on Sherlock and saw that his friend was trembling all over, his arms wrapped tightly around himself. ”Oh God Sherlock…come here.” John slipped his arm around Sherlock’s waist and guided his trembling form into the bedroom and helped him sit down on the bed. John placed himself beside him and kept his arm around his shoulders. Sherlock let himself be held and eventually the shaking started to fade. The room was dim and quiet, the afternoon traffic and their combined breathing the only sounds heard in the flat.

”I was not far from giving up by the time my brother found me…” Sherlock half whispered into the unlit room.

“Well thank God he did.” John’s voice was quiet and emotional on the verge of breaking. The mere thought of losing Sherlock again…it almost broke down his well-constructed stoic walls and he could feel his vison blur. His arm tightened the grip around Sherlock’s shoulders, never wanting to let go of this precious man ever again. The argument from earlier seemed petty and small by now and he could barely remember what had started it all.

“Thinking of you kept me going,” came Sherlock’s voice soft beside him. “The thought of you, safe back home, that kept me fighting, until I just didn't have the strength anymore.”

“Sherlock…” John whispered, the raw emotion in his voice surprising to himself.

“And yet, after all this, after all the hell I had to walk through, I would do it all again John, to be able to be here right now…,” Sherlock sat up a little straighter and turned his head towards John, looking him straight in the eyes, “…with you, safe. I would die for you John,” he said with a more assured tone than John had heard for a very long time. Sherlock searched the face of the man in front of him, cataloguing every new piece of information he found there, _-deeper wrinkles around the eyes, using new, more expensive moisturizer (probably Mary’s doing), emotions in those eyes he’s never seen before_.  He turned his eyes away, staring at his fidgeting hands in his lap, “I almost did…”

And with those words, John’s stoic wall was crumbled. Falling, brick by brick until there was nothing left but dust left. The hand resting on Sherlock’s shoulder pulled the man beside him into a fierce embrace that felt like coming home. All the tension in John’s body melted away as his body pressed closer to Sherlock’s and he felt the detective’s arms hesitantly coming up to hold on to John just as hard as he held Sherlock. He felt one of Sherlock’s long arms curl around his shoulders and the other gripped the nape of his neck with a tender but strong grip as he rested his forehead on John’s right shoulder and turned his face into the crook of John’s neck. Sherlock started to tremble again and John could feel his shirt become damp from the warm tears falling onto it. So, he just held the man in his arms, allowed him this moment of safety after he spent so many days, months, years even, all by himself. John was in no better state himself. The relief to finally have Sherlock home again washed over him and made him lightheaded. He felt his eyes sting, his throat thick with unspoken words, wanting to come out, to finally be said now that he once again had the chance. He couldn’t miss this opportunity again, not after all this time, after all the mistakes he made, after all the endless denial _…_ John released his grip on Sherlock, wanting to face him, to look him in the eyes. As Sherlock felt John let go of him, he whipped his tears away and let his hands drop down to the bed, using them to shift his body away from John. But John stopped him with a warm hand on his knee. Sherlock looked intently at John’s warm hand resting on his knee with one part surprise and one part gratitude. That strong and solid weight grounding him in this moment with its mere presence, making him feel safe and loved and _home._ He looked into John’s eyes, filled with so much unspoken emotion it made his heart ache. Sherlock leant forward, his forehead meeting John’s. “I missed you, John” he whispered into the air between them. John let out a sob while the last small pieces of restraint faded away and he tilted his chin up and kissed Sherlock’s lips. A warm and soft mouth met his, not kissing back at first but it only took Sherlock a few seconds respond. He kissed John back, trying to communicate all the unspoken feelings with his lips and hands, and John welcomed every bit of it, seeming to understand everything Sherlock wanted to say and kissing Sherlock back the same way, speaking a million words without talking. When their lips parted, their heads still close together, breathing each other’s air, John lifted his hand and cupped Sherlock’s cheek. He stroked his thumb over Sherlock’s damp cheekbone and said with tears in his eyes; “You, are amazing. I can’t explain the feelings I have and probably always have had for you. I look at you now and I just…love you, and it terrifies me. It terrifies me what I would do for you Sherlock. I love you not only for who you are, but for who _I am_ when I’m with you. I was a mess without you, a shadow of the person you got to know. I felt numb, alive but not living. I almost came after you…” This made Sherlock sit up straight with a horrified look in his eyes, taking John’s hands in his.

“I…I never knew…Why didn’t you? I mean, I’m so glad you didn’t but what stopped you?”

John glanced down at their joined hands and sighed; “Mary”. At this, Sherlock tried to withdraw his hands as if just remembering that John was with her now. That John was no longer Sherlock’s to have, but John held on.

“Sherlock. Please, look at me.” Sherlock glanced up from their joined hands and into John’s sincere and pleading eyes.

“I need you to know that what I have with Mary…I….I just latched on to someone who made me feel less numb for a while. I just settled, knowing I’d never find anyone who’d make me feel as alive, as content as so you did. You were always my home, Sherlock. I felt like I belonged when I was with you and I never felt that with Mary, not even close. She was someone who put up with me when I was at my worst, she made me start smiling again and for that I will always be grateful to her. But my heart, has always belonged to you. So, I promise I will break things of with her. I just…want you, that’s it.” John took Sherlock’s hands in his, kissing first the right one, then the left, then he looked up to meet Sherlock’s eyes. “All your flaws, mistakes, your smiles, your sarcasm. All your crazy moods, your experiments in the fridge, take-out in the middle of the night…I’ve missed you too, Sherlock. So much.”

“John…” Sherlock says with a sob, tears slowly rolling down his cheeks.

John knows he’s blabbering, on the verge of breaking. He never has been good at this, but he continues; “I’m not telling you it will be easy, but I can promise you this. It will be worth it.”

“John”, Sherlock says with urgency in his voice making John’s thoughts come to a halt.

“Yes, I’m blabbering, I’m sorry. I just….”

“Come here, I need to kiss you.”

“Oh…”

John leans towards Sherlock, meeting his lips once again. Sherlock cups John’s cheek with his right hand and puts the left one around his waist, pulling John towards him. He can’t bear even the smallest distance between the two of them now. Nothing will keep him away from John from now on. He finally feels at peace and he lets himself bask in the feeling of it. It’s been so long since he felt happy, and safe, and…loved. And to be loved by this extraordinary man, it is something he will cherish every day for the rest of his life. With one final caress of lips he pulls away just enough to be able to see John’s eyes as they open. John smiles at him with a smile that reaches his eyes and Sherlock smiles back, lifting John’s hand to his mouth and presses a kiss to his knuckles, mimicking John’s action from just a moment before. “I don’t care how complicated this will get. I still want you John. My heart has been, is, and always will be yours.” John’s smile grows if possible even bigger as he leans in to kiss Sherlock again.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
